dedalus Posted October 19, 2010 Share Posted October 19, 2010 Four miles over the thing the road begins, complaisant, lovely just what you'd expect. When I look I see nothing and everything, kaleidolly, scopically, slotting bangles and hairworn twisted tangles into dust. I must be brave. I can only save some, not many; perhaps, I think, not any, as the rivers race down to the sea. I could have been happy, you know, as these things go, in Middleton Park, 28, just down the row, happily coming home for tea with my mad mother, my distanced father, books in the library and a bit of cricket on bumpy greens with a snarling yeomanry. When I hit my ball through your window, darling, did you hold it in a lewd lascivious way, thinking Omigod I can carry on from this. When I had to piss in the trenches (the War), booting aside the bodies, I never thought of that, I thought of kidney pies and roast pork and crackling. My mouth positively watering with the thought of everything but you. It's true you stood beside me on the hustings, leatherlunged, God Bless You, in the khaki election and I was so happy. Alive, like, after the war. I'm so awfully sorry I had to murder you, doll, but you were becoming such a pain and you wouldn't listen so with a wink and a nod the lads did you in and I attached myself to Churchill, the coming man, and with my red-rimmed eyes and hoarse croaky voice he believed every thing I told him. This radar, I said, is a waste of time, and don't send boats to Dunkirk. Bombing Germany is total nonsense, Winnie you berk, and tell the bloody Yanks to back off, stay home. I managed to extend the war by two or three years. Later, when I was running my high-class nightclub between several bombed-out buildings down in Soho the girls would come screaming for champagne, naturally, and so we'd give them shaken Algerian fizz. In this way we set the taste for the next three generations. Later still, when I was elevated to the House of Lords, I voted against everything, we always did on principle, and had a charming pied a terre in nearby Pimlico, where, rising from bed among languorous naked bodies I'd complain, Can't you bitches cook an English Breakfast? Laughter. I'd knot my tie, slope down to the Allingham Café for bangers and mash, bacon, toast and railway tea. And this is how I ruled Britain for the next twenty years. Bring back hanging! I became peculiar and more dangerous and was incarcerated off in the wilds of Walthamstow not far from the High Street pub called the "Victoria" where I'd appear on gala nights in tutu and lace stockings because I knew the manager and they couldn't fence me in. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted October 20, 2010 Share Posted October 20, 2010 Very entertaining, Brendan. I enjoyed the lyrical elements, especially the beginning. I know you often write from historical figures' points of view. So, who's the speaker in this one? Is it Brendan Bracken? Tony Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dedalus Posted October 21, 2010 Author Share Posted October 21, 2010 (edited) Brendan Bracken? Good Lord, no -- BB was a pragmatical, go-ahead semi-scoundrel often believed to be the model for one of the characters in Evelyn Waugh's "Brideshead Revisited" (I presume you've seen the excellent TV series now out on DVD?) whose name in the book I can't remember. He was the one who wanted to marry Sebastian's sister and was prepared to convert to Catholicism to do so. Waugh satirised him as one of the thrusting New Men who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. His attitude towards conversion was typical, a means to a desired end: Look, you can't expect me to believe this nonsense, just tell me where do I sign? The character I had in mind was David Low's Colonel Blimp Edited October 21, 2010 by dedalus Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aleksandra Posted October 21, 2010 Share Posted October 21, 2010 Brendan, this is wonderful narrative poem. Interesting character and point of view. Your poems abound with power of the idea, message and sense. This poem is long as most of yours, but not boring to read and to look from another perspective at some sequence from the past. I like the compactness of the expressions. Well done, Bren! Aleksandra Quote The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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